


Sweet Heat

by wreathed



Category: British Comedy RPF, Just Puddings (Web Series), Off Menu with Ed Gamble and James Acaster (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Dirty Talk, Embarrassment, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:42:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22092259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wreathed/pseuds/wreathed
Summary: It’s the middle of an August heatwave day. Ed pops over.From the prompt: heatwave fic. Trying to stay cool in the heat (and totally failing?)
Relationships: James Acaster/Ed Gamble
Comments: 12
Kudos: 63
Collections: Britcom Anon Meme 2019





	Sweet Heat

It’s the middle of an August heatwave day: dead nothing breeze, too hot to linger outside even on the shady side of the pavement. James is in knee-length shorts and a t-shirt at home, lying on his sofa and staring at the ceiling, idly wondering if he should check on his phone to see if there’s any free-standing fans left in stock he could pick up today from his nearest Argos once the sun has retreated a little, when there’s a buzz from his entryphone. James grouses out loud at whoever is making him get up from the sofa as he twists himself upright to standing.

It’s Ed, who announces himself with the same typical-Ed _hello!_ as he always does. Something weird tightens in James’s chest as he wordlessly opens the building entrance for him and waits for him to reach the second floor.

The thing was that, earlier that week, James and Ed had somehow ended up at the same house party (not that unusual) and somehow ended up kissing each other in a walk-in wardrobe (much more unusual; nay, unprecedented). 

It hadn’t been in sight of anyone else -- God forbid -- and it had been for a long enough time that it couldn’t really be written off as some kind of strange accident. Ed had been enthusiastically listening, or so James had thought, to James’s burgeoning, clearly hilarious rant about there only being savoury snacks on offer at the party, until Ed had bodily shoved him into the wardrobe and gone for it, without warning and with his arms firmly wrapped around James’s waist. James had made a very embarrassing moaning kind of noise, panicked at the ludicrous enthusiasm of his own erection wedged against Ed’s thigh, and then Ed’s voice had come from the darkness announcing that he was sorry but he had to leave now because he had an early flight to Aberdeen the next morning.

Before the gig he’d had up there, Ed had sent James a photo of some brightly-coloured box he’s bought for him from a shop Ed’s found that sells American candy, to which James had responded with a single starry-eyed emoji (because that had seemed less suggestive than a heart-eyed one), but they haven’t discussed the kissing at all. James has thought of little else.

There’s a knock on the other side of the door. James immediately pulls it open. 

“It’s very hot, isn’t it,” Ed says conversationally, looking as dumb as he usually does as he closes the door behind him. He’s looking annoyingly happy in some really cool t-shirt that James’ll have to ask him later where he got it from, loose shorts and a baseball cap, but the weather’s given him a distracting sheen of sweat over his pink top lip. Inevitably, James is thinking about what it would be like if they started kissing again, but it all seems so much less likely here, in the daytime and the sunlight and not in a cupboard in the dark. Besides, touching another person’s the last thing you need to happen in this stupid weather.

“Just over here to check on your well-being,” says Ed. It’s hard for James to place how Ed’s feeling, but he still looks like he’s recently received some fantastic news.

“Thank you, Ed,” James says, and smiles to himself as Ed throws a carrier bag of sweets onto James’s coffee table.

“Been looking after yourself?” Ed asks, leaning his back and palms against the wall. James stays a few feet away, standing in front of the sofa. Ed’s legs are held slightly apart when he’s like this. James is noticing, all over again, perfectly normal things about Ed, like the width of Ed’s thighs or the spread of Ed’s fingers. Except those things don’t make him feel normal anymore. 

“I’m fine,” James says. “Haven’t even had much on the past couple of days, for once.”

_All the better to spend the entire time dwelling on the kissing,_ he thinks to himself darkly. 

Ed pushes himself off the wall. It makes him look taller and more determined. His jawline, James thinks as he stares at it, looks very concerned.

“Have you taken care of yourself since, you know…”

“Are _you_ all right?” James asks. Why is Ed suddenly so enquiring all of a sudden? “I said I’m fine. I’m a fully grown boy, you know.” Ed doesn’t need to be _this_ gentle with him. If Ed has come to tell him there won’t be a repeat performance, he can understand that. He just wishes Ed would hurry up and come out with it. 

“No. I mean,” Ed says with a glint in his eye: nervous, but also curious and anticipatory. “Have you got yourself off? Have you had a wank?” 

James feels his face flush red; perhaps Ed won’t be able to tell, he hopes, because his skin is pink in the heat already. Now, _that_ was a question he hadn’t been expecting. 

“There’s enough stickiness at night at the moment without adding jizz to the situation,” he throws out with spiked intonation, like he’s trying it out as new material. To his gratification, Ed laughs. 

But it’s true, and all: he’d tossed and turned under a sheet (no duvet), wondering whether he should get some sort of fancy climate control system put in and how much that kind of thing cost. Pointedly ignoring his hard dick; thinking about Ed; wondering what the rules between them were now. 

“So, no,” Ed asks, because Ed’s bad at letting go of things when he thinks there might be something in it for him.

“No,” James confirms. Then he sits down on his sofa.

“Why don’t you get yourself off now,” Ed suggests, sweet as sugar. “And, you know. You don’t come until I say.”

He hadn’t expected that, either.

“Well, that’s not going to be difficult,” James sighs. “Because that is not a sexy idea and it’s too hot to do anything.”

He knows he’s avoiding eye contact with Ed. What about the kissing? Shouldn’t they talk about this? He’s already starting to get hard, which is, frankly, grimly predictable.

“This is stupid,” James grumps, feeling stupid.

“Shh,” Ed says. “Just go away into your head with whatever you want to think about.” Ed’s voice like this is quite relaxing, James has always found, and he does have a long, illustrious history of going along with whatever new venture Ed’s suggested to him.

James crams his eyes shut and tries to clear his head of everything as -- entirely madly, he acknowledges to himself -- he unzips his shorts and wraps a hand around his cock through his boxers, hoping he’s not touching himself in a way that’s too weird. 

“That’s it,” Ed says, throaty and encouraging. James doesn’t open his eyes, but Ed sounds like he’s close by. He feels his cock fill out enough for his boxers to feel tight.

“Shut up,” James mumbles, and Ed takes a quick quiet breath in and doesn’t say anything else for now. The room feels so hot and still.

After cupping himself once more for good measure, cock now heavy in his hand, sensing he must look absolutely ridiculous, James gets his cock out of his boxers and starts to stroke himself. It’s starting to feel good now, despite all the thoughts still left in his head and the sweat pouring off the back of his neck. He can’t hear much of anything at all except for the unmistakable friction-sound of his hand around his dick, which he tries to forget about as well.

After a few minutes, he feels the scrape of fingernails and the press of a broad hand against his bare foot. He leaps away from it, opening his eyes furiously. It’s a shock to see Ed still there, sitting opposite him on the coffee table, arm stretched down.

“Don’t touch me. I’m trying to forget you’re here.”

“Charming,” Ed says, but when he pulls his arm back and waves it to indicate James should continue, James shuts his eyes again and doesn’t seriously consider doing otherwise, now Ed’s somehow got him feeling like this.

When James goes back to it, he speeds up his hand, biting down on his lip to stop any more embarrassing sounds escaping. He can hear Ed’s breaths again now though, which makes it harder for him to forget Ed’s actually there so he can occupy himself with imagining Ed instead. Maybe, after they’ve had an excruciating conversation about this like sensible adults, they could… 

“Are you thinking about going down on a girl?” Ed asks in a low voice, making James jump, which makes him fuck into his own fist more deeply, which makes his teeth let go of his bottom lip as he gasps out loud.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” Ed says, seemingly undeterred. “When you can feel how wet she is against your tongue and you can make her thighs shake. Or maybe you’re thinking about her sucking your dick? That always feels good, right?” 

“Shut up, Ed; I mean it,” James says, and stops moving his hand. This feels dangerous. Belatedly, he realises just how turned on he is, and it’s not from thinking about any girl. He feels exposed like this, cock red and starting to leak badly. He wants his hand on himself again because he can’t bear to pause when he’s looking and feeling like this. 

“Why don’t you spit on your palm?” Ed says kindly, as if this is a normal situation and he’s making a perfectly reasonable suggestion. “It’ll feel even better.”

“Oh, I didn’t realise this was step-by-step instructional,” James says acidly. As if this isn’t embarrassing enough. “I have done this before by myself, you know.”

James still has his eyes shut; he couldn’t bear, he thinks, to look at Ed right now. He starts to pull himself off again and, no, he’s not going spit on his palm in front of Ed, thank you very much, because this already feels better than he thought it could and he’s got to show Ed he can last, because… he has to. To save face if nothing else.

He wonders if Ed’s sitting there opposite him feeling as turned on as he is but somehow not doing anything about it, and the very thought makes his heart leap.

“Can you finger yourself?” Ed says, voice still low, now starting to sound a little less controlled. “Open yourself up for me? Want to see that so much.”

James’s eyes snap open, his face flushed and furious. “Just spit? I don’t _think_ so.”

“Knew you wouldn’t own any lube, you weirdo,” Ed says cheerily. He’s sitting with one leg propped up on the other. “So I’ve brought some along. I was trying to ease you into it with the spit, but if you insist.”

“Ed, I can’t,” James says weakly, frustrated that he’s now back to not getting off and looking like an idiot with his cock hanging out in front of him.

Ed goes for the bag of sweets he’s put on the table, gets out another smaller Boots bag within it, and takes out a small bottle of clear liquid, holding it proudly aloft.

“Jesus,” James says, putting the heel of his hand over his dick so Ed can’t see the way it’s traitorously twitching. “That’s a bit presumptuous, isn’t it? Coming over to ‘check on my well-being’, were you?”

“This is well-being in action,” Ed replies, not really answering the question. He throws the bottle to James. James doesn’t manage to catch it one-handed, but it does hit his torso and conveniently fall into his lap. 

“Can I close my eyes again, please,” James mumbles, and Ed’s eyes, if James is not mistaken, fill with another thrill of excitement. 

“You can if you open that bottle and get one finger in for me. You’ll have to take your shorts off.”

“Ed, I can’t,” James tries again.

“For me,” Ed says, and smiles. Ed, it seems, is merciless and well-versed in the latest rhetorical techniques. Must be the public school education.

How did they get here? On his own sofa? Knowing he could hardly stop now but with another spike of embarrassment, James pulls down his shorts and boxers and lets them fall to the floor. Now he’s even more exposed and Ed can see how hard he is, how big he is. James takes one last sneaked look at Ed, whose own cheeks are pink, before he closes his eyes again. 

“That’s so good, James,” Ed says kindly, as James opens the bottle and empties a little of it out onto his middle finger. It’s cool and wet. “You can use a bit more than that, though. You want it nice and wet, don’t you?”

“Ed,” James protests, but he pours more on. 

“Bend your legs and put your feet up on the sofa so I can see you,” Ed’s familiar voice tells him, and James thinks _oh, God_. Again though, he does it, he does do it, because some terrible part of him wants Ed to be pleased, and another terrible part of him trusts Ed to make him feel good. Ed can see even more of him, now.

“Can you push one finger in for me?” Ed asks, and James realises his own breaths are coming more quickly and loudly. He takes his middle finger and does it, and it kind of stings, but Ed tells him to keep going, in and out, and to curl his finger up, and James moans when, to his shame, he feels his cock leak just from that.

“Now, get that stuff on your cock as well,” Ed says. “But remember, don’t come until I say.” 

“I think I’m ready now,” James gasps as he does it, fumbling with the bottle cap, and Ed laughs, but it isn’t unkind. 

“Are you thinking about sucking someone off?” Ed asks over the wet sounds of James having one of his own fingers inside him and his own slick hand on his cock, and it’s too much, really. “How full it feels in your mouth? How they could hit your throat, or maybe push past it? How you could kneel there all obliging and take it, their hand on your jaw?” 

_Ed could do that,_ James thinks wildly. Ed could tell him what to do and make him take it exactly how Ed wanted it and look at him all pleased. 

“You,” he says very quietly, twisting his hand on the upstroke. “You doing that. Oh, fuck.” 

“Oh, _yes_,” Ed says under his breath, and he sounds so _happy_. 

“Okay, Ed. Come on. Let me come now. Please.”

“What do you need?” Ed says to him instead. “Do you want me to fuck my come into your pretty little hole? Or do you want it in your throat so you can swallow it all down until you’re full?”

“Uh,” James says, having to concentrate hard to stop himself from moving his hand wrapped around his cock too fast after those awful words have flowed from Ed’s mouth so easily, feeling Ed’s gaze on where his own finger is currently curled into himself. “Don’t make me choose.”

“Don’t make you choose? Oh, _I_ see. Are you thinking about taking a dick in each hole until you cry?”

“Ed, _no_. That’s – ah – that’s not what I meant,” he breathes, but knows he’s shifting his back against the sofa cushions. Ed’s words, much to his own irritation, are making him squirm.

“Could cram you full of cock so easily. Do you want me to pull some people off the street and get then to take their turn?”

“_Ed_,” James says, grimacing from how easily he could be tipped over the edge right now. “_Please._“

“Answer me first. Have you ever gone so long, before? Got yourself this desperate to come?”

“Not _by myself_,” James says between quick little breaths. He knows Ed would say it’s fine to feel good, but he can’t help feel a shade of guilt when he’s not even got anyone else off first and he’s so much the centre of attention. “On your own, why would you draw it out?”

“Oh, James,” Ed says pityingly, and James opens his eyes. 

Ed has his hand rubbing against a large bulge his leg had been hiding, trapped in his shorts, a sight that makes James’s stomach pleasantly turn over, and he’s looking at James so intensely, like he doesn’t want to miss a moment of James’s pleasure. 

“Don’t you dare stop,” Ed says, voice rough in his throat, and James doesn’t, he doesn’t, even though he thinks one slick twist might finish him off and then he’ll have broken the rules, come before Ed _gave him permission_, which now seems like the most exciting idea in the entire _world_, so he just carries on what he’s doing, flexing and unflexing his toes, keeping his eyes open the whole time and grinding up into the grasp of his own hand, tightening himself around the finger he’s got deep inside himself. Sweat is pouring off him. 

“Please, Ed,” he pants again, clenching his thighs. “I can’t hold out much longer.”

“That’s it,” Ed says, without a trace of embarrassment, as if he can’t hear what he’s saying. “You’re being such a good boy, James. You’re a good boy.”

James looks at Ed disbelievingly then -- how can Ed just say things like that, and _know_ \-- but that doesn’t stop meaning he feels hysterically balls-tight ready, so _so_ close. 

“Go on,” says Ed, and, with what might be uncharitably described to him later by Ed as a sob, James grips his hand extra tight on his next stroke and shoots all over where his t-shirt covers his stomach.

There’s lots of it, and he can feel Ed’s eyes on him watching all of it come out over the course of far too many seconds. James stares down at the mess with a feeling of mild surprise, followed swiftly by shock over what he’s just done in front of Ed. What Ed had _said_, and how James had moaned because of it. Face burning hot, he jerks his head up to face Ed, who is digging the heel of his own hand hard against where his shorts are distending considerably, and looking glassy-eyed. It must be the weather.

“Are you really going to make me take a… in each until I… what you said?” he asks Ed, feeling more prickly than usual. He covers his softening cock away from view with one of his hands. 

“No, of course not,” Ed laughs. “But it got you going, didn’t it,” he adds slyly. 

“Wait. You _tricked_ me into coming!” Ed has an expression in response that says he’s not going to let this accusation stand, but it’s quite a lazy expression, like he’s more fussed about making sure he gets off pretty sharpish himself.

“We’ll at least work up to getting my dick in you until you cry, yeah? Only a tiny bit of crying, mind. Because I’m nice.”

“You’re not nice,” James says, but he’s feeling the best he has in ages. “You’re horrible.”

James will remember that look for a long time, he thinks to himself, as Ed runs his eyes over James, looking desperately far gone, leans forward and kisses him deeply. Maybe they’ll never actually have to talk about this after all. Maybe.

“We’ll work up to it,” Ed promises.


End file.
